Roses in Ink
by Lady StarFlower
Summary: He hears the bell above the entrance jingle before it's violently cut off by the door slamming shut. A girl with tattoos running up and around her arms comes up and slaps an impressive amount of bills on his counter. "I have five thousand yen." She declares. "How can I tell someone to stop being a dumbass in flower?" A Tattoo Artist and Florist Kacchako AU. T for Bakugou's vocab.


He hears the bell above the entrance jingle before it's violently cut off by the door slamming shut. He looks up with an annoyed 'tch' as a girl with tattoos running up and around her arms comes up and slaps an impressive amount of bills on his counter.

"I have five thousand yen." She declares. "How can I tell someone to stop being a dumbass in flower?"

Bakugou eyes her up and down with incredulity. She's wearing a pastel pink halter top that shows off an impressive amount of body ink; mostly words and caricatures of galaxies. The girl is petite, sturdy, and has the rosiest cheeks he's ever seen on a human being.

But then again, he's had odder customers.

"First off," He gestures at the shuddering entrance behind her, "that's no fuckin' way to treat my door."

"Excuse me for being a little temperamental." The girl crossed her arms over her chest, emphasizing the wreaths of ink twirling around her arms and snaking up to her collarbone. "I just want to know if you can fulfill my request. I've heard that this is a pretty fine establishment."

He can't help but preen a little. "Oh, really?"

"Not with that attitude." She huffed. Damn.

Bakugou narrows his eyes at her, taking half the folded bills and sliding the rest across the counter back to her. "We don't charge this much for a bouquet. That's the fancy bourgeois shit next door. So, you want a 'stupid dumbass' arrangement or 'stop being an idiot' nosegay?"

"Preferably both?" The girl bit her lip, "I mean, if it's possible. It's for a friend of mine who landed his ass in the hospital."

He clucks his tongue as he moves to the worktable behind the counter, plucking hydrangeas from a nearby vase and rummaging around for some frothy meadowsweet. "You sure you got the right meaning in mind?"

"It's his fault he was so reckless!" She fumes, her eyes blazing with annoyance. "I warned him beforehand that the red light district was not a place you just stroll into, and what does he do? Takes a police force to stamp out some drug dealers and the idiot gets himself smoked! It's ridiculous, I tell you!"

Bakugou listens to her ranting absentmindedly as he works, keeping one eye on his arrangement and the other on her with some wariness. He once had some rich guy come into his shop and quietly asked to buy his entire summer stock for an impromptu wedding, or the other time when a motorcycle gang decided to help their leader propose to his boyfriend. He'd seen them all.

"…And now I owe his girlfriend half my paycheck." The girl reels to a stop and gawks in amazement at his work. "Wooooow. That looks way too pretty for what I had in mind."

He gives her a longsuffering look. "This," he pulls out a sprig of meadowsweet, "could mean uselessness or lack of thought. Hydrangeas," he gestures to the clump of blue, "means vain-worthy recklessness or boasting. But these French willows also symbolize bravery and humanity. The rest are just aesthetic. I assume that this was what you had in mind."

The girl blinks, and then her lips curve upwards into a smile. It's vibrant, wide, and unexpectedly sweet. "That's actually…perfect! Awesome! Here, let me tip you." She stuffs one thousand yen into his tip jar, which only had a few modest pieces of change chilling at the bottom.

"Hmph. Thanks." He grumbles, tying a stiff ribbon around the entirety of the bouquet and handing it to her carefully. "Have fun verbally kicking your friend's ass."

"Hee hee." The girl giggles, light and airy. "I will. Thank you again!"

When she disappears in a whirl of swirling petals, the smell of Green Soap lingering in her wake, he realizes he never asked her what her name is.

O.O

The second time she comes to his shop, it's pouring like hell outside, the kind of biting rain not at all like the romantic summer drizzle the city was used to. He's moved the more delicate arrangements indoors to protect them from the cold, and now he's curled up comfortably behind the counter drinking non-expired instant coffee while reading some trashy online horror stories. Bliss.

The bell above the door jingles, and Bakugou looks up to see a giant walking poncho waddle in. Two arms emerge from the sides and shucks off the dripping plastic with a shiver, and the tattooed girl lets out an "Aaah" of relief.

"Oh my G-g-g-od, dry and warm." Her teeth are chattering. "My car's in the shop, so I had to walk! Your place was on my route though, so that's a plus."

He clicks his teeth. "This ain't a rest stop, you know. No loitering."

"Oh, I know, I have a legitimate reason to be here!" The girl digs around in her pocket and pulls out a fucking sketchbook. She laughs at his nonplussed expression. "Your flowers are really exotic. Some of them I've never seen before. Do you mind if I draw in here? I have a lot of customers asking for flowers and stuff and I'm terrified I can never do them justice."

She tilts her head at him, her eyes dancing. Bakugou grunts and picks up his phone again. "Do what you want."

"Aw, yeah!" The girl pumps her fist in an oddly endearing way. She marches to the counter and sticks out her hand, damp with rain. "I'm Uraraka Ochaco, by the way."

He takes her hand. His hand easily swallows her smaller, softer one. "Bakugou Katsuki. Don't you forget it."

"Well, it's kind of hard to miss." She smirks, nodding at his name tag attached to his uniform. "It's nice to meet you! Formally, I mean."

"Yeah, whatever." Bakugou grumbles, letting go quickly. Her hand was beginning to feel too good in his palm. He speaks loudly before that thought could progress any further, "I can get you a seat so you don't have to sit your ass on the arrangements."

"Wow, crude and yet thoughtful." Uraraka smiles, holding her sketchbook close to her chest as he untangles himself out of his seat. "You're a regular juxtaposition."

"And you're a blatant stereotype." He snarks back over his shoulder as he shakes out a folding chair covered with southernwood leaves. "The sunshine girl who laughs too damn much."

Uraraka, of course, promptly laughs in his face. He growls at her as he sets down the chair for her by the window that carried the prettiest flowers, and she drapes her poncho around the backboard.

He watches her draw, moving briskly across the paper with her fingers to make lead blossoms and inky blooms, and he vaguely wonders if he should get a tattoo.

O.O

It becomes something of a regular habit for the two of them. Uraraka would pop by on rainy days, always claiming that her car was unavailable, and he would pull out the folding chair from the back room for her. She would then draw, chattering up a bigger storm than the one outside, and he would grudgingly listen, sometimes interjecting with a few choice comebacks of his own.

It was...good. It felt natural, easy.

He learns about her, almost all at once rather than the clichéd gradual burn. Her parents are both still working full time, something she feels strongly about. "I feel bad for pursuing a liberal arts degree." She laughs uneasily.

"Bullshit." He says mildly, twisting some larkspur into a spiral of colors. "If it's what you want, do it. Your parents would want to see you happy."

Uraraka frowns thoughtfully, tapping her pencil against her chin. "That's exactly what they said."

"See," He grins, pointing his spool of ribbon at her, "I'm both right AND fucking psychic."

She throws her pencil at him, and he catches it easily, cackling at her pouting expression. When he throws back the pencil, a leftover sprig of larkspur accompanies the little stick of lead. "What is this?" She asks, twirling it between her fingers.

"It means levity or lightness." He grins at her. "It also means I delight in your discomfort."

"Bastard!" She sticks out her tongue at him, and they both laugh, the sound of thunder barely drowning out the sounds of their mirth.

O.O

One day, he wonders if they had crossed a line.

Uraraka's curled up on a stool this time, sharing the surface of his counter, drawing as usual. She's bundled in an actual fuckin' quilt that she had somehow managed to stuff under her poncho.

She had kicked off her shoes, revealing small, delicate white feet with the tiniest of inky tendrils around her ankles. He secretly admires them even as he's barking at her to keep her sweaty-ass feet in her shoes. She just sticks out her tongue at him.

The aesthetic is ideal. His Bluetooth speaker is blasting some soft thrash metal, and the screaming is accentuated perfectly by the thunder outside. Perfect atmosphere for doing the bills.

"Hey," Uraraka pipes up suddenly, speaking over the cursing and the "singing", "Do you have any tattoos?"

He looks up from a mass of seed catalogues and Excel sheets, his reading glasses sliding off the bridge of his nose. "If I say no, would you pounce on me with a fuckin' needle and a jar of ink?"

"N-No!" She sputters, and he watches her flounder around for a few minutes with what he thinks is the "shit-eating grin" as Kirishima dubbed it stretched on his face. "I just want to know. I mean, I love them-"

"No shit." He says bluntly, jabbing her tattooed wrist with his pen. Uraraka swats uselessly at him, rubbing her injury with exaggerated pain.

"If you ever want one, I could give you one for free." She suggests, smiling up at him. Damn, those teeth could stop traffic. "I mean, we're pretty close now, right?"

"Yeah, we're real besties now." Bakugou replies with deepest sarcasm. He recoils, because of course Uraraka jabs him back with her own pen. He hisses as he wrings out his throbbing wrist as she cackles, her eyes scrunching up with mirth. "Why would I get something permanent stabbed into my skin that I might regret when I'm an old geezer?"

"Oh, God, you're one of _those_." Uraraka sighs loftily. She suddenly reaches out and seizes his aching wrist in her hands, and, uncapping her pen with her teeth, begins to draw determinedly on his skin. He stiffens, holding perfectly still as her fingers remain clamped around his arm, her pen gliding smoothly over his wrist bone.

At this proximity, Bakugou is suddenly vividly, achingly, blazingly aware of a myriad of things; her sweet, fruity scent, the way her eyelashes flutter when she blinks, the soft exhalations as she works, and the vivid blush seeping into her neckline, where hot red blood blooms against the watercolor galaxy tattoo by her collarbone.

But nothing is more searing than the press of her cool fingers on the veins of his arm, her round fingernails digging gently into hs=is bronzed skin.

After an eternity that was far too short, she pulls away, her face still pink, and murmurs, "There."

Bakugou studies his wrist in a bit of a daze. It's a surprisingly beautiful sketch of a thorn-less rose, sketched with hurried yet thoughtful lines of ballpoint ink. He looks up to see her backing slowly away, her rosy cheeks aflame.

"U-um…" Uraraka stutters, hands gesturing helplessly, "See, that thing is temporary. It'll wash out with a bit of water and…s-soap. A tattoo can stay…longer."

He stares into her eyes, his heart thumping painfully. His voice is quiet. "Do you know what a thorn-less rose means, Pink Cheeks?"

Her eyes widen. He studies her face, the contours of her cheeks, looking anywhere but at her succulent mouth.

The moment stretches.

Then suddenly with a mortified squeak she's reeling backwards, stuffing everything into her poncho pockets, quilt and sketchbook and all. Before he can choke out a flustered "O-Oi!" she's already hightailing it out into the rain, letting the door bang shut behind her.

Bakugou collapses back behind the counter, his heart skipping like a goddamned hyperactive child. He slings his arm across his eyes, letting out a shaky, mortified groan into the already-smudging lines of the ballpoint rose.

O.O

She doesn't return to the shop.

And after that, as if Nature herself was out to spite him, the sun comes out full force. Every morning he stares gloomily at the cheerful blue skies, the ladies' sundresses sweeping by his display windows, and wishes murderously for enough rain to drown Noah's Ark.

His old college roommate Kirishima remarks on his thunderous expression as he visits him on a particularly sunny day, at the peak of the month. "You look like the opposite of the weather, dude." He comments lightly as Bakugou glowers at him over the head of a nodding tulip.

"None of your fucking business." Bakugou mutters, accidentally snapping a stem in his grip. "Is this for your freaky girlfriend again?"

Kirishima vibrates happily. "Yeah! It's our two year anniversary! Aw man, I can't believe we've been together for so long, she's so amazing…" His dopey grin looks like something straight of an asylum, Bakugou fumes, violently tying off the bow with a little more force than necessary.

He shoves the giant explosion of red and pink across the counter to Kirishima. "Here you are, saphead. The most gag-worthy arrangement I could think up. Keep your cash, get her dinner or some shit. "

"Aw, thanks bud! I didn't know you had romantic sympathies!" Kirishima sniffs the flowers appreciatively, then frowns. "Hey, why no roses? I thought roses were like, THE romantic flower."

"Amateur." Bakugou scoffs, extricating the bouquet back. "Red tulips mean affectionate love. This white stuff is called milk vetch. It's to mean that her presence softens the toils of your dolorous fuckin' life. I added peach blossoms 'cause you look like you would let her step all over you and that's basically what it means. Happy?"

"Hey, that's cool." Kirishima scratches the tail end of a tattoo on his neck with his good arm sheepishly. "Wow, you really got into this stuff, didn't you? I thought you weren't serious when you left the force."

Bakugou's hand stilled over the bouquet. "I was serious, dumbass." His voice was a growl, his throat constricting painfully. "You knew why I couldn't stay."

Kirishima's hundred watt grin dimmed. "I know, man. I'm…just glad you found something better. You're actually keeping the shop open at decent hours now, and you're making me and Mina a nice bouquet on the house. What changed, dude?"

Bakugou shakes his head, pushing the arrangement over the counter to Kirishima. "Nothing, shitty hair. Go and have a good anniversary or whatever."

"You sure, bro?" His friend gives him a final once-over, then suddenly, his gaze zeroes in on the fading ballpoint rose on Bakugou's arm, just where his sleeve had ridden up. Bakugou hurriedly yanks the sleeve down, but not before the most shit-eating grin in the history of hell spreads across Kirishima's face. "Dude. Dude _._ DUDE."

"Don't fucking do it." Bakugou growls.

"I recognize that tattoo work!" Kirishima gasps, pulling the collar of his uniform down to reveal a wreath of ink around his shoulder. "U. O.? Oh my God! You let Uraraka Ochako draw on your arm?!"

"Shut up and get out!"

"You're in love!" Kirishima crows, all but dancing with glee. "You're pining! BAKUGOU KATUSKI IS ACTUALLY PINING!"

"Get the fuck out of my establishment!" Bakugou roars, nearly imploding in his rage. "I swear, I'm going to call the cops!"

"You'll be calling yours truly, my man! Oh wait, that's not me anymore! HA!" Kirishima hoots, cradling his bouquet in his arms like a lover. He pauses in his taunting, rummaging in his back pocket with one hand. "Wait, I might still have her business card. I'm going to do you a solid, dude."

He extracts a wrinkly white card and slaps it on the counter. "There; Galaxy Body Ink and Piercings. Go get 'em, champ!"

"MOTHERFU-"

"Ah ah ah, watch that mouth of yours! Wouldn't want to taint our darling Uraraka's lips!"

Streams of curses follow a laughing Kirishima out of the door.

…Maybe the idiot isn't such a thick-headed ass after all.

O.O

The parlor is around the fucking corner.

The moment he forces the door open with his shoulder, Bakugou's nose wrinkles up at the smell of rubbing alcohol. It's dimly lit but for the glow of several neon lights in the shape of the planets hung on the black plaster walls. He would've rolled his eyes at the cheesiness but for the nervous knot at the bottom of his stomach.

The only artist in the parlor is some punk chick with her nose buried in a magazine. When he approaches the ink-stained counter, she glances up, bubblegum popping on her lips. She eyes the rose in his hands and looks back up at him, her lidded eyes quirked.

"Uraraka!" She yells suddenly in a husky voice towards the back room. "You've got a customer!"

Bakugou is stupefied. "Hey, what the fuck?"

The girl grunts, unfolding herself from behind the counter with a languid air, her snappish gaze flicking towards him again. "About damn time. She was being mopey all week. Wouldn't breathe a word about it but she keeps drawing these ridiculous roses." She gives him another once over. "So you're the guy."

"Yeah, what the hell do you know-"

"Bakugou?"

She's standing before him, wearing a black wife beater that shows off her tattoos in all their glory. Her eyes are wide, surprised, and suddenly filling with joy.

"Hey." He grunts, suddenly flooded with embarrassment. Here he is, standing like a love-struck sap in a tattoo parlor, holding a stupid rose in his hand, staring dumbly at the most goddamned gorgeous girl on the planet.

"Have fun, you two." The punk girl snorts fondly, sailing off to tend to another customer. "And, hey, Rose Guy. If you hurt her, I'm jamming my needles into your retinas."

As her footsteps recede, he clears his throat awkwardly. "I'm…here for a tattoo."

Uraraka's mouth curves into a grin. It's wickedly sweet, showing off a bit of teeth, and something in him breaks. "You could've come sooner?"

"Yeah, yeah, fuck off." Bakugou says a bit breathlessly, taking two steps before he's catching her in his arms, crushing his lips to hers as her arms immediately entwine around his neck. Her fingers curl into his hair as she eagerly kisses him senseless, his muffled purr of delight lost in her pleasured moan.

When they finally part for breath, Uraraka lets out an alarmed noise as she extricates a crushed rose from between them. "Oh no, I'm sorry!"

"No big deal." He murmurs, burying his face in her hair. "I was just going to ask you for one on my arm, anyway."

Uraraka hums with delight. "Are you sure you want something permanent on your skin that you might regret when you're an old geezer?" Her tone is laced with playfulness, and it reminds him of larkspurs on a stormy day.

Bakugou chuckles, his fingers splaying around her waist. "I doubt I will be regretting this, Pink Cheeks."

 _fin_


End file.
